A Passing, A Change
by Red-Maple-Vodka
Summary: Sometimes we have to move on, even when our hero s are gone. "America the beautiful indeed..."


**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit off of the series Hetalia in any way, if I did well... you probably wouldn`t want to know what I would do with poor little Canada.**

**Warnings: Death, blood and Matthew`s potty mouth**

Sick. That's all Matthew could feel as he punched the gas on his car and sped to the border, running through inspections with the flash of a card, barking orders and obscenities at the stupid border guards.

Two hours. That's how long it took to get to Alfred's house once he got in the States. Too long, much too long to get there. By the time he reached the door he was so tempted to just stop, turn around and never go into that dark house. Since when did it feel so uninviting and empty?

Weak. Why was he hesitating now that he had gotten here? He was just checking on his brother, nothing odd about that. Matt just needed to calm his twin senses. (That's what he liked to call it, Alfred was more inclined to say it was Canadian paranoia.) 'Come on, just knock…' The teen took a breath and knocked on the front door. Once. Twice. ……. Three times. No response. The tell-tale signs of his brother crashing through the house to answer the door with his goofy smile were non-existent.

Shit. He knew something was wrong. He knew the whole time but he held the nausea and worry at bay with little reassuring thoughts. Al was probably in a burger coma or something. Wouldn't be the first time. He tried the door. Unlocked, not that it was too surprising. Alfred was careless about home security… Matthew shook his head and walked in. He looked in the kitchen. Nope. Living room..? Not there either. Well, he must be in the bedroom sleeping. Right… Matt padded through the modest house, getting to the bedroom and pushing the door open. Nothing once again… what was on the bed? Moving with a sudden knowing in his chest he moved closer, seeing a letter. Picking it up he then saw the two names written in what must have been Alfred's best penmanship. He hadn't seen such nice hand writing from the American before… which meant this was extremely important. Matthew`s name was on it…. why? Instead of opening it Matthew put it in an inner pocket of his coat. He couldn't read it now.

Then… Alfred must be in the bathroom. The one room he hadn't checked. Going on autopilot he walked straight to the door and paused, the nausea sweeping over him again. It's… probably nothing. Nothing… He's just trying to scare me… probably. After reassuring himself for the fourth time he opened the door.

Blood. Splattered against the wall… fuck. His brain stopped, trying to push the image out, denying it over and over… his eye moved down to the floor automatically. Alfred, still, sprawled on the floor with congealed blood around his head… this was a joke. One of Alfred's jokes… Had to be because he wouldn't –do- this…. He wouldn't. Matthew shuddered, kneeling down and placing a hand on his twin's shoulder, shaking him slightly. He was joking…

"Alfred…. Come on. This isn't… funny… just get up and clean this mess…" No response, his body was stiff, cold… Al was good at acting wasn't he?

"A-Alfred…. Just get up…. Please…?" ……… This wasn't happening. It wasn't Shit. Matthew bit his lip and pulled away from the corpse, shaking his head.

"Al… n-no… this isn't… shit…" He turned away, leaning against the frame of the bathroom. He was dreaming, this wasn't happening it wasn't, it wasn't… Something shut off in his head, mind suddenly blank, blissfully free of the urge to vomit. The teen turned back and looked at the corpse again. In a few steps he leaned down and took a closer, analytical look, noting the gun in Alfred's hand, the spatter of blood coating the bathroom tile. How long had Alfred been planning this?

Why? Matthew wasn`t sure if he had spoken the question out loud or not. He set about cleaning the blood off of Alfred raising his head and making sure that brain matter wasn`t stuck in his hair. Carefully, he picked the body up, going back to the bedroom and setting it down. He looked at Alfred`s face, contorted in pain, regret almost... he must have been torn about his decision. Matthew reached down and touched that face, using his fingers to smooth out the tensed muscle so that Alfred`s face took almost peaceful, like he was sleeping.

Alfred… America… he was beautiful. God what was Matthew thinking when he decided to leave him? He bit his lip and brushed the American`s hair out of his face. Amber waves of grain… His clothes were filthy, blood was seeping into the pillows. Matthew slid off the bed and went to the closet, finding his brother`s best suit. He should be dressed nicely for his burial. Letting his hands move on their own he stripped Alfred of his outer-clothing, pausing to look at his bare torso. Lean, though maybe a little fat on his stomach… but he had been in great shape… Matthew had always admired the other`s body. Now it was cold. That sweet infectious smile was gone. The teen quickly dressed Alfred up in his suit, a little stiff but it was more proper, in a way. Now he needed something to carry the body in, at least wrap it up for the burial. The sheets should work. Clean ones though. So Matthew went and after some digging he managed to find clean white bed sheets. Then carefully, lovingly, he wrapped Alfred`s body up in the sheet, it was the best he could do on short notice. Now, he needed to be buried… where though? His mind was still buzzing, keeping his emotions at bay as he thought of the best place to lay his brother to rest. Open space, clear sky… that would be perfect. Matthew picked up the wrapped corpse and took it to his car, (a rental, hopefully any blood stains would go unnoticed). He drove. For one, two hours… being careful to keep the temperature of the car low, in a seemingly futile attempt at preserving Alfred`s body. Then he found it, somewhere between West Virginia and Georgia, a sloping landscape that, though sparse, was full of the promise of lush grass in the spring. Parking a little ways off, Matthew opened his trunk and took out the compact shovel; he needed to be sure the ground was soft enough for him to dig without too much difficulty. Lucky, the ground gave way rather easily. He went and took Alfred`s body out of the car, carrying it to where he was digging. Setting the other boy down he pulled part of the sheet away to show Alfred`s face. He looked peaceful, mostly due to Matthew`s help but still, it was comforting.

Now the digging. It was a cold day, on the verge of drizzling, which only seemed to add to Matthew`s blank, almost apathetic mood. He was halfway before he noticed his vision was blurring. Matthew fumbled with the shovel, taking a shaky breath to steady him.

"Shit." Dizzyness, that same nausea... he couldn`t do this. Looking to Alfred`s body made him pause again… Matthew could feel something surge in his veins, giving him strength. It was soothing, liberating. It was just what he needed to complete the task at hand. As he went back to digging his lips began to move, mouthing the words to a song. Then his voice came shortly after, soft, tremulous, full of fear and hope for his brother, his family… himself.

_"…O beautiful for pilgrim feet_

_Whose stern impassioned stress_

_A thoroughfare of freedom beat_

_Across the wilderness!"_

The anthem became louder, stronger as Matthew`s heart started to race. The words were empowering him, keeping his hands and mind focused. He was almost done digging.

_"…O beautiful for heroes proved_

_In liberating strife._

_Who more than self their country loved_

_And mercy more than life!"_

The words caught in the back of his throat, looking back to the corpse of his brother, his former love… Alfred was so much more than those things. Matthew climbed out of the new grave, leaning down to pick Alfred up, bringing him to the side and ever so carefully dropping him down into the bottom. Too bad no one else was here… though it seemed fitting, Matthew being the one to put Alfred in his grave, see him onto the end. He grabbed a handful of dirt and tossed it in, showering Alfred with moist earth. Should he say a prayer? It didn`t fit. Instead, Matthew began to sing again, "America the Beautiful" indeed… now he was gone. Now it was just Matthew. Once finished putting the last of the dirt down he sat next to the grave, patting the fresh earth down. Too bad he didn`t have a marker, he`d get one later. Matthew lay back, looking up at the bleak sky. America… if only you knew the loss you suffered today. Would it? Could the people feel the absence? Matthew did, and it finally came over him, the pain, hurt, betrayal… Alfred was supposed to be the strong one for God`s sake, why? Why did he give up? Why didn`t he talk to anyone? Did Alfred really feel that suicide was his only option? A sob broke from the Canadian`s lips, then another. His body trembled and he hid his face, feeling ashamed for showing his tears now.

"Dammit… fucking dammit… Alfred you dick…" His hands went into his coat grabbing the letter and clumsily opening it. He read through once, twice… it only made him cry harder, tears rolling down his face with no end in the near future.

"Bastard…. Why… you left me… dammit." He coughed, rubbing his eyes furiously so he could see. Something… felt different. Matthew blinked, wincing as something akin to pain shot down his spine, making him cry out in surprise. He curled up, trying to will the new sensations away. Insides were shifting, borders that had been blurry at best melted away, fusing together, and becoming one. Matthew reeled, his form convulsed and his stomach heaved, emptying its contents onto the cold ground, leaving the Canadian breathless for a few moments.

"Uhg….. s-shit…" He coughed and scooted away from the mess, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. What the hell… just happened? Standing unsteadily, finding his legs were somehow a little bit longer, hands were a bit larger… did he just have a growth spurt?

Looking around Matthew noticed… things seemed a little brighter? The sun wasn`t out… Ah… no… he looked down at himself, he had grown. He looked to the grave, suddenly tempted to dig it back up again. Was Alfred`s body still there? All at once Matthew knew what had taken place. But, was it possible? Nations weren`t supposed to die in the first place, not unless the land was no longer theirs, then they were as vulnerable as any human. So, if a nation died… he was so confused, he`d never heard of something like this. Though… it had happened, Matthew had just become proof of that it seems. "America" was dead… "Canada" still lived… somehow, "Canada" was no longer "Canada"… He had become more, expanded… This land had been passed to him. He was Canada… and now he was the United States. Two countries, an entire continent.

Matthew Williams…

No, it didn`t fit anymore…

Matthew Williams-Jones.

Yes. That was fitting… wasn`t it? Will you be proud Alfred? God he didn`t want to mess up. He had to live enough for two people now. A soft smile crept across his face at the thought.

"Hey, Alfred… if you can hear me… thank you. For everything." Matthew wouldn`t let his brother disappear, not as long as he was around to remind everyone.


End file.
